


Dulces Sueños, Cariño

by S_Elizabeth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, First Time, Light Angst, Massage, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Elizabeth/pseuds/S_Elizabeth
Summary: After a long, frustrating day in the Brecilian Forest, Zevran presents Neria with a rather effective way to relax.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Surana, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden, Zevran Arainai/Surana, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47
Collections: Dragon Age Den (NSFW)





	Dulces Sueños, Cariño

**Author's Note:**

> The first on a series of chapters focused on the beginning of Neria and Zev's relationship. 
> 
> A massive thank you to FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf) for being the most patient and lovely Beta in existence. 
> 
> This scene has probably been done to death but its a classic moment from the Zevran romance so I wanted to write my take on it. This was originally intended as part of a long fic, but I'm incredibly slow at writing and I wanted to get it out of hiding at some point so here we are!

They return late to where the others have set up camp a respectful distance away from the Dalish. Alistair and Wynne go to join the others as they prepare some food, but Neria isn’t hungry, just irritated. She’s been tense ever since the death of Zathrian—actually, since before then. The entire situation doesn’t sit right with her. 

They’d been forced to camp briefly in the ruins, exhaustion overtaking them after the ordeal with Zathrian, and had returned to the Dalish after only a couple of hours’ sleep. Lanaya, now the Keeper of this clan, had accepted her word about what happened. Neria had told her almost the entire truth, only leaving out the part about the real reason for Zathrian’s extended life. It had been a very dark kind of magic, and these people had revered him. They had looked to him for guidance for their entire lives, the lives of their parents, grandparents and even further back. He had ended the curse of his own free will, sacrificing himself for his clan. She would not smear his name now.

They have the Dalish elves’ support for their cause. Keeper Lanaya had immediately pledged their hunters for her army, and Neria had promised protection for their clan in Redcliffe should they want it. Lanaya had declined, saying that even with their fighters gone they would feel safer as far away from  _ shemlen _ reach as possible. Neria understands the hesitation, but still finds herself longing to be able to do more to ensure their safety. Their hunters would be invaluable in stopping the Blight, but their absence would leave the clan vulnerable. She’d spent the rest of the day helping them in whatever small ways she could in thanks, but she knows it isn’t enough. 

It frustrates her that there are treaties that force the elves, dwarves and mages to give them help against the Blight, but there are none for the  _ shemlen _ nobles, who all have their own men and fighters. Instead, Loghain could proclaim himself regent, turn against the Grey Wardens and make it close to impossible for them to save Ferelden without confronting him first. His hand has been behind so many of the difficulties they’ve faced trying to fight this Blight; the betrayal of King Cailan at Ostagar, the arrest warrant for the Grey Wardens, the assassination attempt against them, the chaos in the circle at the hands of Uldred, the poisoning of Arl Eamon... 

Neria huffs in frustration _. Why is Loghain  _ doing  _ all of this?  _ Couldn’t he see that he was tearing the country apart? Leaving them vulnerable to the darkspawn attacks?

Neria paces the camp distractedly, letting out a noise close to a growl. Alistair looks up in surprise from where he’s now sitting by the fire, but he ducks his head away and moves off towards Wynne and Leliana. The look on her face must be dark indeed for him to give her such a wide berth. Normally she would chalk this up to her usual irritation at this time of the month, but she hadn’t had any sign of menstruation since her Joining. Since there is no possible way she could be pregnant, she takes it as proof that what Alistair had told her was true. She will never have children. Neria sighs, attempting to push the thoughts from her mind. It doesn’t matter now. She’d always imagined that future with Cullen, and he no longer wanted her.

One shoe is still squelching as Neria walks through the camp, and she has to get it off or she’ll go mad. She sits down on a log away from the fire with an irritated sigh and yanks off the offending boot, followed by the other. She stretches her feet with a groan, wiggling her toes. She still isn’t used to these things. She’d been barefoot most of her life amongst the Dalish, and even in the Circle she’d only ever worn very light slippers when she couldn’t get away with no shoes at all. 

She brings the sole of the soaked boot closer and squints at the muddy leather. If she can find where it has worn through, perhaps she can avoid another uncomfortable day tomorrow.

There is a small  _ tsk _ from behind her, and she recognises Zevran’s voice. 

“You look so tired, my dear… and so tense.”

Neria doesn’t look up, her gaze fixed on the boot. “Mmhm.”

“It is all this constant walking and fighting,” Zevran says. He circles her slowly, footsteps silent on the grass, and the invitation in his voice is obvious. “I think I know what you need.”

He stops in front of her, just close enough that she can’t ignore him, and finally she lifts her gaze.

His armour is gone; that’s the first thing she notices. He’s wearing his old breeches and a loose-fitting linen shirt, open enough to show the smooth brown skin of his chest. His blonde hair tumbles freely about his shoulders, eyebrows arched invitingly. 

He is beautiful; Neria would have to be a fool not to notice. Still, she is hardly in the mood to admire him right now.

“A horse?” she replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She glances back at her boot as he chuckles softly. 

“A little late for that, no? You require something a little more immediate and drastic.” 

Neria puts down her boot, with a little more force than necessary, then looks up at him again. “Spit it out, Zevran.”

Zevran knows well what she can do when her temper is aroused, but he seems not the least bit concerned. He steps behind her, and his hands rest on her shoulders. Moments later she feels his breath tickling her ear.

“My thought is this,” he says in a low voice, “we retire to your tent, and I show you the sort of massage skills one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

He’s already demonstrating said  _ skills  _ before finishing his sentence, and Neria can’t help but sigh as he expertly finds the knots in her shoulders, kneading them with his thumbs. A full massage would be absolutely amazing, and she’s holding onto so much tension… but then, she remembers who the offer is coming from.

Zevran flirts with her constantly of course, and she’d be lying if she said there was no chemistry between them, but he flirts with everyone. She’s even seen him make Alistair blush a couple times, although that is not exactly difficult. The way he acts towards her doesn’t mean anything.

It’s clear what’s really on his mind, as she knows he would probably offer his  _ services  _ to anyone he finds attractive. Casual sex had been common enough among mages and templars at Kinloch Hold. After she and Cullen… well, it was definitely  _ not _ something she’d considered with him. In the months since Ostagar, all her energy has been spent on staying alive. Sex has been the last thing on her mind, casual or not. Well, until now.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

Zevran smirks, hands still working at her shoulders. “If you mean to ask whether or not there might be more than a massage involved… allow me to simply say you won’t be disappointed.” He leans in close again, voice dropping. “I’ve picked up many other skills over the years. And many  _ techniques _ .”

Clearly she’s meant to imagine what sort of techniques those may be, but all Neria can think about is the strong fingers working out a particularly bad knot between her shoulders. She lets out a noncommittal sound.

“How far we go is entirely up to you, my dear Warden. But I do believe you are deserving of a little fun, are you not?” 

His breath is still hot on her ear, and Neria tries hard to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine and pools in her stomach, tightening the muscles of her core involuntarily.

_ This isn’t a good idea _ , she reminds herself. They may be friendly now, and she is certainly attracted to him… but they’d met because he had tried to kill her. No doubt he had lured many other women and men alike to their deaths, likely using the same sweet flattery and skilled hands.

She trusts him now, but it would be stupid to let her guard down completely with  _ anyone, _ let alone an assassin.

Zevran’s hands reach a particularly tense area and Neria stretches, rolling her head back. Then suddenly his touch is gone, and she turns fully to face him, confused.

“If you’re not of a mind, it is no tragedy,” he says quietly. He stands with his hands behind his back, expression unreadable. Neria swallows and tries to pull her thoughts into line.

“Lets just stick to the massage, shall we?” she says after a long moment, and he grins, bowing slightly and gesturing towards her tent. 

She tries not to think about how this might look to the others, especially as it isn’t any of their business. This won’t sit well with Alistair in particular. He still didn’t trust their Antivan friend, and of course there’s the possibility that he may have feelings for her… but this isn’t about him, it’s about her. She desperately needs to relax, and Zevran is offering to help her with that. Why should she deny herself a simple massage?

Her tent is small and basic, an old thing bought from Bodahn for a handful of coins she managed to scrounge from odd jobs. Neria ducks under the flap and drops onto the bedroll, biting her lip in sudden nervousness. Zevran follows a few seconds later and ties the tent flaps closed. The dim light becomes murky darkness, and she can hear the rustle of fabric as he kneels in front of her.

“This would be easier if you wore less,” he says, eyes lowering to the armour she’s still wearing. Neria feels the heat flush her face, but begins to remove it piece by piece.

There’s another rustle as Zevran retrieves a little bottle from his pocket and opens it. A sweet, dusky scent wafts through the tent, and she inhales deeply. Some sort of oil, she realises; clearly he had been fully prepared for her to say yes.

He waits patiently and silently for her to set aside her armour and remove her tunic, then guides her to lie on her stomach and rest her head on her arms. She starts when warm fingers slip under her breastband and undo the ties with a few quick tugs.

“Relax, dear Warden,” Zevran says, his voice tinged with amusement. “I am on my best behaviour, I assure you.”

Neria hums, forehead pressed into her crossed hands. The scent of the oil hangs around them, calming her with every deep breath. This time she doesn’t move when warm fingers brush the back of her neck, tucking strands of hair into the loose bun she wears. The darkness of the tent amplifies every sound, heightening the anticipation. Every rustle of fabric, the gentle tap of glass against skin, and Zevran’s quiet breathing fill her ears. When his palms finally press into her lower back, hot and slick with the oil, she almost sighs in pure relief.

Zevran’s touch is firm but not painful, and the oil lets his hands glide easily over her skin—slow circles from the small of her back to her shoulder blades, smoothing out the tension in her strained muscles. Neria lets out a little muffled sound when his fingers press into her hip bones, massaging away the tightness so gently it feels like a caress. An  _ incredible _ caress, she thinks, and a little moan slips out of her before she can stop it. Zevran chuckles from somewhere above her.

He has a knack for being easy going to the point of being facetious, but he clearly has not been lying about those skills of his. The callouses on his fingers are from years of practice with a deadly blade, yet they somehow manage to find every bit of tension in her muscles and release it all, until she’s so relaxed she’s practically melting into the blanket.

That is, until he reaches the back of her neck, and those callouses are just ridged enough to send shivers down her spine. It doesn’t help when he drags his fingers down her back and curls them under the edge of her leggings. Another rustle of fabric and he leans over her, bending down to whisper in her ear.

“May I?”

Neria tries—and fails—to control her shiver. Before she can even consider it, she finds herself nodding slowly. She half-expects Zevran to make some sort of joke about the situation, but he is quiet; only asking her to lift her hips so he can roll the fabric down. He withdraws for a moment, and she hears him opening the oil bottle before turning his attention to her legs and feet. The muscles in her calves are painfully tight from hours and days of endless walking, so the first dig of his fingertips makes Neria wince—but this doesn’t last long. The discomfort melts away with his touch, and turns into another tremour when his hands move closer and closer to the edge of her smallclothes.

What would it feel like if she were completely bare underneath his hands, Neria wonders idly, as goosebumps wash over the backs of her thighs, then admonishes herself for the thought.

“Relax,” Zevran repeats, softer this time. No doubt he can see the downy hairs on her legs rise at his touch, betraying her wandering thoughts better than her mouth ever could. “I assured you that this would go no further than you wish it to, did I not? You need only tell me to stop and I shall do so immediately.”

He may have misinterpreted her body’s reaction as discomfort and reluctance, but that isn’t the problem. It’s the exact opposite—she wants him to go further. Much further.

_ This isn’t sexual, _ Neria tells herself as he gently picks up her other foot.  _ He is being respectful. _ More respectful than he’s been in the entire time she’s known him, given his usual forwardness.

There’s no reason to feel this tension in her core. No reason to feel the muscles tightening as she presses her legs together; no reason to feel the answering ache in her clit.

“Turn over, my dear,” Zevran says softly, interrupting her thoughts, and Neria moves to obey without thinking. Her breastband slips down, prompting a furious blush as she crosses her arms to cover herself. He grins as he watches her fumble, opening his mouth as if to speak.

“Shut that mouth of yours before I shut it for you,” she grumbles, though without any real heat. Zevran presses his lips together obligingly, though not without chuckling. His eyes had missed nothing, wandering from her flushed face to the small curves of her breasts.

“Quite right,” he says. “How very unprofessional of me. You are simply very distracting, my dear Warden. Shall I continue?”

Neria swallows hard, cheeks burning, and nods.

Zevran retrieves the bottle of oil and moves even closer, swinging one leg over her thighs and settling himself against her. It’s becoming too dark in the tent, with only a faint glow from the fire outside to see by, and she conjures an arcane light with a lazy gesture.

“What—” Zevran begins, as the orb winks into existence above his head. It settles near the ceiling, throwing soft golden light over their bodies. Then he shakes his head and returns to massaging her palm, before working his way up her forearm. A slight indent appears between his brows as he dutifully concentrates on each muscle in turn. Neria sighs in relief when he finds a particularly sore spot below her collarbone, right in the shoulder joint, and kneads the tension away.

Zevran reaches for her other arm, accidentally knocking aside the breastband, but Neria is too distracted to care. This arm is her dominant one, with the hand that grips her staff near constantly. Even her fingers are tense, and under his touch it melts away. He works on her arm in the same manner, massaging from forearm to shoulder joint, and Neria groans and closes her eyes at the firm fingers kneading under her collarbone again.

Warm palms slide across the side of each breast and her eyes fly open, breath catching in her throat. His touch is purposeful rather than sexual, though, and she bites her lip on a sigh of mingled disappointment and relief.

Zevran’s hands wander over her ribs, just shy of tickling her, and his thumbs smooth the line of muscle from her sternum to her belly. He presses circles into the hollows of her hips, then finally… he stills.

Neria opens her eyes, slowly, to find his gaze on her. His eyes are dark with desire, lips parted in a soft exhale.

At least she isn’t the only one affected. That makes her feel a  _ little  _ less self-conscious.

Zevran leans down and rests one hand beside her head, hair falling down to form a silky, golden curtain framing his face.

_ He’s so close _ , Neria thinks, and has to bite her lip to keep herself from gasping. She could kiss him now, if she likes, and she knows very well how it would end if she did. 

And if she did… would it be like she had imagined? Because, if she’s honest with herself, she has definitely pictured this moment before.

“If you enjoy my touch so,” Zevran says huskily, “there are other places I could…  _ attend to _ for you.”

His gaze flicks down to her lips and back up again, and Neria swallows hard. The wet heat between her legs demands attention; the warmth of his thighs with no purchase to grind against is driving her to distraction. The more logical part of her brain shouts in the back of her mind, reminding her that this man is dangerous. It’s a weak protest, easily drowned out by her desire, and she gives in.

“Zev,” she begins, but to her surprise he begins to lean back, his hands withdrawing reluctantly.

“I understand—”

Neria sits up and grabs his wrist, pulling him back towards her.

“No, you really don’t,” she says, and lunges up to meet his lips.

Zevran makes a surprised sound, but recovers quickly, and she can feel him grin against her mouth. His expression is almost insufferably smug when he pulls back.

“Ah, so it’s like  _ that _ , is it?”

One hand fumbles at the back of her head, pulling her hair loose in a clatter of pins, and he winds his fingers around a fistful of black strands.

“Shut up already,” Neria mumbles, only to groan when he kisses her again, tongue plunging into her mouth.

Zevran wastes no time—perhaps he thinks they’ve spent enough on casual flirtation and teasing touches. In a few quick movements he slips off her thighs and between them, pulling her into his lap with a firm hand on the small of her back. His teeth nibble at her bottom lip, but she tugs insistently at his shirt until it bunches under his armpits. With a reluctant huff he breaks the kiss, raising his arms for her to pull the fabric over his head.

_ Creators, he really is gorgeous _ , Neria thinks, as her gaze wanders down his bare chest. There are tattoos on his torso that mirror the one on his face, curving across his arms, over his chest, down his ribs and disappearing below his breeches. She traces it with her fingertips, fascinated with the contrast of soft skin over hard muscle. His nipples are darker than the rest of his skin, and there are scars showing brown-pink on his shoulder and torso. She touches a long, thin line from his armpit to his ribs and wonders about the story behind it. No doubt there’s a story behind all of them.

She could spend hours just looking at him and touching him. Any other night he would probably let her, while cracking jokes and flirting outrageously the whole time. This night, however…

Zevran grabs her chin firmly, tilts her head up and then he’s kissing her again, hand snaking around her back to press her flush against him. With their bodies so close and their limbs entwined, she can feel the telltale hardness of his cock straining at his breeches. A little thrill runs through her, and her hips roll against his impatiently, almost involuntarily. The fabric of her underwear is just thin enough to tease, but not enough to take the edge off her frustration. Neria rocks again, grinding against him roughly, and is inordinately pleased with herself when he moans hoarsely into her mouth. Then his teeth tug at her lower lip, sending electric sparks skittering down her spine and an answering throb between her legs, though if it’s from her desire or him, she can’t say.

“ _ Mierda _ ,” Zevran mutters, then two strong hands grip her arse and lift. In one swift movement he flips them, depositing her on the bedroll, still kneeling between her legs.

“Oof!”

The wind goes out of her at the sudden landing, but she’s quick to laugh it off. Her dark hair splays wildly on the crumpled blankets, and she blows wayward strands off her face.

His lips move up her jaw to her ear as his fingers trail down, teasing her breasts. He bites down on her earlobe at the same time as he pinches one of her nipples, making her moan and arch up into his hand. He chuckles, his breath hot as he whispers into her ear.

“So very responsive. You truly are a sex goddess…” 

She can’t find the words to respond to that  _ ridiculous  _ statement when his fingers are trailing down the smooth skin of her abdomen, his lips and teeth working at her ear. She’d never known how much pleasure one could feel there. Every sensation shoots straight down to her core, leaving her tingling. None of her human friends had ever mentioned it. Perhaps it’s an elf thing? 

Neria gasps as his fingers lightly brush over the fabric of her smalls. She’s so wet her thighs are slick, her underwear clinging to her skin. No doubt Zevran can also feel it—his eyelashes flutter at the contact, a smirk threatening to break through his bitten lips. Frantically she grabs his hips, trying to tug him closer to her, encourage him to grind against her—it doesn’t have quite the desired effect.

“Ah-ah,” Zevran tsks, though the breathiness in his voice gives away his desire. A firm grip pries her arms and lifts them above her head, fingers curled around her wrists.

“Patience,” he says with a chuckle. “Tonight is about you, and I intend to serve you well. May I?”

Neria nods, her heart thundering, and watches him slip his free hand between her legs. He unties her smalls, encouraging her to lift so he can slide the garment out from under her.

“ _ Eres increíblemente hermosa _ ,” he murmurs as he gazes down at her. His eyes devour her form greedily: breasts rising and falling rapidly, nipples stiff with chill and arousal, smooth abdomen and dark curls between her legs.

Neria bites her lip. “Is that Antivan?”

“Yes.” Zevran moves her thigh aside carefully and lies down on the blankets beside her. “Yours is a beauty that deserves to be exalted, my sweet Warden. Appreciated and  _ savoured _ —and I intend to.”

She laughs, a little breathlessly. Usually she might respond to such flattery with sarcasm, but not tonight. Not when his fingers are trailing along the inside of her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Higher and higher, and— _ there _ . A little moan falls from her lips as he caresses her, feather-light and teasing. She bites her lip and gazes up at him, knowing how wound-up she must look, and strains against the firm grip still holding her wrists. She wants so  _ badly  _ to touch him, to make him groan and shudder as she—

Zevran lowers his head, tongue teasing her nipple, and his thumb brushes her clit. The thought dissolves, leaving her clinging desperately to the only thing her fevered brain can think of:  _ he  _ really  _ knows what he’s doing. _

The feeling of his hot mouth closing over her nipple is electric; almost painful in its intensity. Neria writhes, a little whimper rising in her throat, but Zevran seems not to notice her obvious impatience. Or perhaps he does, but he’s unmoved by her wordless plea. One finger presses against her, then into her, and she’s so wet she barely feels it.

“Zevran,” she whines, when his slick fingers rub over her clit.

“Yes, my sweet?” He says, barely pausing as he moves to her other breast. 

“I—”

She’s close to coming, Neria realises suddenly. She can feel the tension beginning to build in her swollen, aching clit, and part of her wants to let it happen—but what about Zevran?

Then as the thought occurs to her, Zevran pauses and withdraws, releasing her wrists.

Neria opens her eyes to see him settling between her legs. The confusion must have shown plainly on her face, for an answering look of surprise flits across his. Then he grins.

“No-one has ever tasted you before, my Warden?” he asks.

Wordlessly, her eyes widen.

“Well, then... let me be the first.” Zevran lowers his head, and Neria feels the gentle pressure of lips and teeth on her inner thigh.

This isn’t something she has ever done before, not even with Cullen. Sex with him had been good, but they hadn’t ever had much time to explore anything but the basics.

His tongue swipes a slow line along her vulva up to her clit, and Neria sits up with a shock of pleasure. 

“ _ Maravillosa _ ,” he murmurs, mouth pressed to her clit, and the vibration makes her shudder. “That templar of yours had no idea what he was missing.”

Neria only half-hears him; she's panting at the thrust of his tongue inside her and his hands sliding up the back of her thighs, pushing her legs wider for him.  _ Oh, _ it's like nothing she's ever felt before—her eyes roll back, and her trembling hands weave themselves into his hair. She's getting closer and closer to that point of release, hips lifting so she can grind against his mouth, the muscles of her core spasming. Zevran flicks his tongue against her clit one more time and that's enough. She comes, her entire body shuddering as the pleasure crashes over her in waves.

"Creators," Neria moans, breathlessly, and she can't seem to stop her legs from shaking. Zevran flicks her clit with his tongue again, and she twists with a whimper, legs twitching. Then he does it again, and she realises he's not going to stop.

Neria lets out an involuntary stifled cry at another shock of pleasure-pain and tries to push his head away. Zevran grabs one wrist and pins it on her stomach, followed by the other.

"Trust me, my Warden," he murmurs. Neria swallows hard, still panting, but nods.

He slips a finger inside her and curls it, rubbing against a spot that makes her shake and moan louder. That earns an amused, quiet sound from between her legs. How he can laugh and still keep up a steady rhythm with his tongue and finger, she has no idea. Then he adds another finger and her body begins to respond, muscles pulling taut again.

Neria sobs on another elven curse as the sensitivity gives way to intense pleasure; she squeezes tight around his fingers, eyes rolling back as another orgasm hits her. Stars burst behind her eyes as she shuts them tightly, gasping and crying out all at once.

This one doesn’t end quickly. Neria writhes, her body folding as her muscles contract and spasm in the aftershocks of her pleasure. Zevran does take pity on her and slows down then, releasing her wrists, and withdrawing his fingers.

She falls back against her pillow with a soft whump, hand raised to her forehead, and tries desperately to remember how to breathe. It’s at least a minute before she can open her eyes, boneless and exhausted, and it’s only to see Zevran retrieving his shirt. He’s grinning, eyebrows raised cockily at her open stare.

“What about you?” she asks, her voice rough and sleepy. Her core muscles are still twitching, sending little spasms of pleasure through her, and relaxation makes her bold enough to stare at the tattoo disappearing past his breeches. He sits back on his haunches to give her a better look, his grin widening. Even in the dim light she can see a damp spot on his breeches; he must be terribly hard, and Neria starts to sit up and reach for him. He moves away, shaking his head.

“I told you… tonight was all about you,  _ mi tentadora _ .”

“B-but…” Neria drops her gaze to his cock, still straining against his breeches, flushing to her ears. “You—”

Zevran grins. “Trust me, dear Warden. I can take care of myself.”

_ That’s not the point _ , Neria thinks, but she’s too fuzzy to argue. He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, then takes one more lingering look at her body.

“ _Dulces sueños, cariño_ ,” he murmurs. “Sleep well.”

Then he leaves, and silence falls as the tent flap closes behind him.

_ Why did he stop? _

Neria rearranges the blankets across her feet and lies down with a heavy sigh, staring at the closed tent flap. She had been expecting it to go much further, after all these weeks of flirting, the subtle touches, the hints—but he had spent the entire time focused on her. He had barely let her touch him.

She lets the sweat cool on her body before bringing the blankets up to cover herself. Her legs are still wobbly and her eyes heavy, and she smiles to herself as she recalls the sight of his arousal. Clearly he had been attracted to her, so it wasn’t any lack of desire that made him leave.

He is a puzzle, to be sure. Hopefully he will consent to another night… Neria’s eyes close, her body melting into the bedroll as she begins to drift off.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using Spanish for Antivan so here are some translations:
> 
> Eres increíblemente hermosa: You are incredibly beautiful.  
> Maravillosa: Wonderful  
> Mi tentadora: My temptress  
> Dulces sueños, cariño: Sweet dreams, darling.


End file.
